


Fantober: Father Brown ramblings

by SophiexHorayne



Category: Father Brown (2013)
Genre: Angst, Autumn, F/F, F/M, Fantober, Fluff, Gen, M/M, a bunch of tropes probably, coffee shop AU, ideally updated everyday but idk lol, just autumn prompts, lots of fluff!!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26752189
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophiexHorayne/pseuds/SophiexHorayne
Summary: a bunch of autumnal, october, prompts from galileojones on tumblr that imma use for father brown. enjoy!
Relationships: M. Hercule Flambeau/Felicia Montague, Sid Carter/Inspector Sullivan, Susie Jasinski/Penelope "Bunty" Windermere
Comments: 20
Kudos: 40





	1. First Day of Fall

The first few leaves flutter from their trees, brown and curled. And the sky has darkened a little, clouds stretching over the entire village, bringing with them a cold breeze. Sid wakes up feeling cold and rolls over and grabs at Sullivan who’s lying beside him. He pulls the man closer, making him grumble.

“Don’t get too comfortable, got to get up soon.”

“Noo.” Sid grumbles back, hooking his leg over one of Sullivan’s and pressing his mouth to the man’s shoulder, “Can’t. It’s too cold.”

“Sid.” Sullivan starts but Sid’s fingers slip between his own, cold as ice, and he thinks that, perhaps, he has time to warm his boyfriend up, before work. 

Across the village, Mrs McCarthy is boiling the kettle and setting up morning tea for the Father. When he enters, with a grin for he always enjoyed the cooler months, Mrs McCarthy is listing the jobs around the church. 

“Leaves have already  _ covered  _ the graveyard. And there will be rain Father, I don’t think St Mary’s roof will handle it this time.” 

“Perhaps Sid will-”

“No.” Mrs M says at once, “You always get his help and it  _ never  _ gets fixed.” 

Father Brown sits down and decides not to argue- she’s right, after all. He receives the tea from Mrs McCarthy delightedly. 

Sullivan is five minutes late for work but, despite his rush and stress that he’ll be told off, no one really seems to notice. Goodfellow smiles up at him from the desk, 

“Good morning Sir.” he greets. Sullivan nods once,

“Morning, Sergeant.” he replies, and looks in annoyance down at the mat under his feet, “Autumn’s barely arrived and there’s already leaves sweeping in here.” he complains before sweeping across the station to his office. 

Goodfellow finds a broom.

Bunty looks eagerly out her bedroom window at the overcast weather. The time for summer dresses is past… she eagerly rifles her wardrobe for jumpers.

Lady Felicia and Hercule Flambeau take a walk through the woods at the back of the Montague estate. The ground is scattered with leaves that had been slowly building since the late summer days and Flambeau playfully kicks leaves in her direction. Lightly, Felicia shoves him, and Flambeau laughs and takes her hand, swinging them, as though they are dancing amongst the leaves. 


	2. Tea and Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> aka sid/sullivan coffee shop au. it also ended up being set in modern day but it's hazy?? hope u enjoy!!

Sid, over his time at  _ Kembleford Koffee  _ on the corner by the police station, has learnt many people’s orders and thus met many people through it. A few of these people he got to know particularly well- if you get what I mean, and others he barely said a word to in the end, but he knew their weekly schedules like the back of his hand. 

The new Inspector in the village doesn’t visit for a while, until one lunch in late autumn. The cafe’s decorated with cobwebs and cut-out paper ghosts hanging on the walls for halloween and the Inspector eyes the pumpkin on the counter carefully, while he waits in line.

Sid had been watching him, despite himself, while he served the other customers, keeps glancing his way. He’s seen the Inspector out and about, spoken to him once or twice when accompanying Father Brown to a crime scene and well, it’s not that he  _ likes  _ him (it’s Inspector Sullivan, and quite honestly he is almost everything Sid dislikes in some way or other) but he can’t help himself from  _ wanting _ him, just a bit.

He looks apprehensive when he approaches the counter. 

“What can I get you?” Sid asks, leaning forward against the counter, arms folded in front of him. There’s a towel draped over his shoulder, and he catches Sullivan’s eyes lingering on it a moment too long. The man takes a breath,

“DC Albert wants um… Caramel Machy- Mach- I can’t read this.” he hands the paper in his hands over to Sid who scours his eyes over the precise writing (Goodfellow’s). There’s a lot of drinks here, over five.

“Ordering for half the station?” Sid asks, putting the paper down on the counter and turning behind him to the machines. 

“Could say that.” Sullivan answers, stiffly. 

The machines churn and whirr and rumble as Sid hurries about making the drinks. He knows Sullivan’s watching him, and well, a customer watching him has never made him nervous like this before and he finds that he really has to focus on not fucking the drinks up and not spilling anything or overfilling any cups. 

When he’s finished, he slips the drinks into one of the cardboard holders and sets them on the counter, keying the order into the till and reading out the total. Sullivan looks bewildered by the price but hands the money over- a motley mix of cash from all of the sergeants and officers. 

Just as Sullivan makes to leave, Sid can’t help but call him back. It’s not like there had been anyone waiting behind Sullivan in the queue. In fact, the place has gone completely quiet. 

“Out of interest… which one’s yours?” he asks.

Sullivan pauses, uncomfortably, with the coffees in his hands. “None of them.” he answers, “I don’t… drink coffee.”

“Oh!” Sid says, “That explains a lot somehow.”

“Does it really?” Sullivan says, then turns to go.

“Let me guess what you  _ do  _ drink.” Sid says, his voice betraying him and making him sound embarrassingly desperate. 

Sullivan turns back around, “I don’t have time for your games, Carter.”

“Sid.” Sid says, pointing to his badge, “And it’s a quick game. Guarantee I’ll get it in one.” 

Sullivan’s jaw tightens, “Fine. Go on then.” 

Okay, so perhaps Sid thought this may have required a little more persuasion, but he nods, “Okay…” he looks at him, squints as if it’ll help to read him, “Standard British tea... bit of milk... no sugar.” 

The Inspector doesn’t move or react at first, stares at him. Then, without responding, he turns and makes to leave. 

“Was I right?!” Sid calls, “Inspector!” but the door closes with a bang and the ringing of a bell. Sid wrinkles his nose and taps his hands against the counter. After a sigh he stretches and turns to the machines, giving the nearest one a hurried clean before the next customer.

*

When he sees Sullivan again it’s a few weeks later. Between times, other cops have come in for group orders, and Sid never sees a tea on the list and resists the urge to make one to prove a fucking point. 

But then Sullivan does come in, looking reluctant and tired and sliding the list of drinks to Sid without a word. Sid barely spares it a glance, knows the orders of the policemen and sets at once to work, with the help of Bunty. And when he’s finished, he makes up a seventh drink, a tea, and adds it to the drinks holder. 

Sullivan looks at it, then up at Sid, “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Tea.” Sid explains, gesturing to the papery cup. Sullivan looks down at it, then back up at Sid.

“But no one…”

Sid rolls his eyes, “Look, usually customers have to add their own milk and or sugar but I’ve done it all for you because I  _ know  _ I’m right. Aren’t I?” 

“But I’m not paying however many pounds just for-”

“On the house.” Sid says, “Since you didn’t ask an’ all. But next time I’m sure you’ll only be too eager to pay our bargain price of 95 pence.”

“Bargain?” Sullivan echoes, “You know how many teabags I can get for 95 pence?”

“Oh, do enlighten me.” Sid replies, leaning against the counter, unaware of Bunty glancing at them from where she’s ‘busy’ making sandwiches. 

“Well I- I haven’t actually calculated…” 

Sid grins, “Take the tea, you’ll enjoy it!” 

Sullivan takes the tea, and the other drinks after paying, wordlessly. Sid can’t help grin as he watches the Inspector go to leave.

“It’s fifteen pence cheaper if you bring your own drinking container!” he shouts after him.

The door jingles shut. Sid still grins.

“Sid…” Bunty starts from beside him. She’s looking at him funny, almost as if she’s caught Father Brown’s suspicious-glint-in-the-eye thing,“What exactly are you doing?” 

“Dunno.” Sid admits, still gazing at the door like Sullivan’s still there, all perfect and stern and frustrated, “I don’t know.”

*

Sid doesn’t say anything, when the sergeant comes in with the next coffee order and finds  _ breakfast tea (milk no sugar)  _ added at the bottom of the list, but he smiles to himself while he makes the coffees, and can’t help but do so throughout the day too, whenever he remembers. 

And when Sullivan next comes in, it’s early in the morning and he doesn’t have a huge list from the rest of the station, just slides an old tea stained mug across the counter and asks for tea. Sid tries not to smile, but Sullivan catches it.

“Don’t, let it get to your head.” he orders.

“Too late for that Inspector.” Sid replies, mindlessly. But it’s not so much what this matter is doing to his head, he thinks with regret, it’s more what it’s doing to his chest, making his heart feel all funny and like it’s expelled to butterflies all new and cautious and fluttery inside of him. 

*

“Sooo… how did it go earlier?” Bunty asks, sliding up beside Sid at the counter. The day’s over and the cafe’s now closed. 

“How did what go?” Mrs McCarthy demands. She’s at the far end of the small shop, tucking chairs under tables and clearing the tables of empty mugs and plates.

“Yeah, Bunty, how did what go?” Sid says. Bunty’s eyes glint, like she can’t wait to spill everything to Mrs McCarthy at once and Sid rushes, “Oh,  _ oh  _ how did  _ that  _ go.” he starts, “Uneventful, actually.”

“How did  _ what  _ go?” Mrs McCarthy repeats, crashing the plates and cups onto the counter in-front of her two young colleagues. 

“Sid’s got a thing for one of our customers… again.”

“She’s lying!” Sid calls, taking the plates to the sink and putting all of his concentration into washing them until they are sparkling and free of every crumb of cake and biscuit. 

“Again, Sidney?” Mrs McCarthy says, clearly believing Bunty over him as  _ always _ . 

“It’s not even a thing.” he says.

“It is a thing.” Bunty says, “A huge thing. He hasn’t stopped smiling all day.”

_ Great _ , Sid thinks, because now he’s blushing, too. “Stopped now.” he snaps back. 

“Well who is it then, Sidney?” Mrs McCarthy says, “I did notice a lovely woman in here earlier, I didn’t quite catch her name but I believe she was reading um, oh what was it now-”

“Not a woman, Mrs M.” Bunty says with a grin.

“Bunts!” Sid starts. It’s not as if Mrs McCarthy doesn’t know that Sid is very not-straight, at this point she couldn’t possibly  _ not  _ know, but he doesn’t appreciate Bunty using it as hot gossip as if he’s not even in the room. Sullivan probably wouldn’t appreciate it either.

“What?!” Bunty says, “Mrs M deserves to know about our customer relationships.” 

“Quite right.” Mrs McCarthy says, “Well, go on then, who is he?” 

Bunty is quiet this time, glances back at Sid who has run out of dishes to wash and is swilling the cloth around in an empty bowl of bubbly water, just to avoid the conversation. 

“Well?” 

Sid squeezes the cloth out when the quiet becomes unbearable, and sets it over the tap to dry. He wipes his hands on his trousers and turns around, “Inspector Sullivan.” he says, as casual and as nonchalant as possible. 

“Inspector Sull-”

Bunty and Sid glance at each other, waiting for the reaction.

“But the Inspector isn’t gay.” Mrs McCarthy says.

“How can you be so sure?” Bunty says, turning around and fixing the halloweeny display on top of the food counter.

“Because… because…”

“Have you ever been in his office, Mrs M?” Sid asks.

“I’m sure  _ you _ have.” Bunty says, only giggling when she catches Sid’s glare.

“Well, yes, I have.” Mrs M says, “But what has that to do with-”

“He has a pride flag sticking out of his pencil pot.” Sid says.

“Is that a weird kind of euphemism?” Bunty quips.

At once Sid turns around, swipes the cloth from the tap, screws it back up and launches it at her. Bunty shouts and throws the cloth back at him,

“Sid! That was still wet!”

Sid’s grinning triumphantly as he sets it back on the tap, “That’s the idea.” he mutters. 

*

He doesn’t see Sullivan in the cafe for a while. On occasion Sid sees him at crime scenes, or outside the station when he’s helping out Father Brown (helping by driving, he can rarely help him solve anything) but even then they only briefly nod at one another, and sometimes it isn’t even that. Sometimes Sullivan won’t even look at him. Sid pretends he doesn’t care.

He doesn’t care, if anyone is wondering. And he  _ definitely  _ doesn’t care when Sullivan finally reenters the cafe. 

“52 point 8.” Sullivan says, when he reaches the counter after a small wait.

“Come again?” Sid asks.

“That’s how many teabags I can get for 95p, based on PG tips prices.” he explains.

Sid grins, “You really worked that out huh, took you two weeks?”

“No.” Sullivan insists, “I wasn’t going to make a special trip in here to tell you so I just thought I’d… tell you… now.” he trails off as he watches Sid lean forward, close to him. Sid watches as Sullivan’s breath catches in his throat. 

“So does that mean you don’t want anything from us now?” he looks purposely down at the cup in Sullivan’s hands. 

Slowly, Sid reaches across the counter and takes the mug, shakes it in front of them to prove a point.

“It’s just… you probably use a good uh teabag and that’s… why it tastes… nice.” Sullivan says.

Sid just grins, slips a teabag in the cup and turns to one of the machines to pour boiling water. When he takes Sullivan’s money, his fingers press against Sid’s hand, and he can’t really think of anything for the rest of the day.

*

Sullivan spending time in the cafe becomes an increasing habit. He sits down at one of the tables at the far end of the shop, sipping his tea and reading through some documents. It makes Sid nervous, when he drinks in the cafe. Of course, the Inspector staying has absolutely nothing to do with him and he is probably staying because it is warm and quiet and outside it is cold and the police station is probably  _ not  _ quiet.

Still, sometimes it feels like he’s being watched. It makes Sid’s heart race.

“Why don’t you take him something?” Bunty asks, “One of Mrs M’s scones perhaps, for free, I’m sure he wouldn’t say no.”

“Give Mrs M’s scones away for free, are you serious? She’d probably have us fired on the spot.” 

Bunty shrugs, “She doesn’t have to know.” 

“She counts them things everyday to ensure we’ve not stolen any without paying.” Sid reminds her.

“So pay for it then.” Bunty suggests.

“But…”

Bunty rolls her eyes, takes some cash out her pocket and heads over to the till. While she’s slipping the coins into the machine Sid casts his eyes across the small room to Sullivan in the corner. He’s frowning, staring at the paperwork in front of him but seemingly not making sense of it. With his pen he hurriedly scrubs something out and writes something else in its place.

“Bunty.” Sid starts, whispering quietly, “I can’t go over there… he looks busy.” 

“Well then I’ll go.” Bunty says, “Don’t worry I’ll tell him it’s from you.” 

“But…” 

Bunty’s already slipping from the counter and is crossing the room. Sid can only watch.

“Sid thought you might like this.” Bunty says, gently placing the plated scone on the table beside Sullivan’s open file. He looks up suddenly.

“Did he now.” Sullivan says, eyeing it suspiciously.

“Don’t worry it’s all paid for.” Bunty assures, “It’s just you’ve been here a while and we couldn’t help but notice that you haven’t eaten.”

Sullivan eyes the scone again, “Yes well… now you mention it I… am a little… peckish.” he admits, “Please let Mr Carter know I’m very grateful.”

Instead of turning to leave, Bunty sits down opposite him, making the Inspector look up from his work in surprise. 

“Is there something else, Miss Windermere?” he asks, then checks his mug of tea and quickly goes to drink the rest before it becomes cold.

“What do you think of Sid?” Bunty asks, abrupt.

Sullivan promptly chokes on his tea and puts down the mug, “I’m sorry?” he asks.

Bunty shrugs, “Well, you know, he’s… it’s no secret that you’re his favourite customer.”

Sullivan raises an eyebrow, “Really?” he can’t help but glance over to the counter, where Sid swiftly looks away. 

“Really.” Bunty confirms. “And, I’ll keep it between us… but, how do you feel about him?”

Sullivan can’t help another glance over to the barista, then back again to the one opposite him, “He’s… nice.” 

Bunty smiles, “Oh come on.” she says, “I’m sure you can do better than that.”

“Fine, he’s irritating. Almost as meddling as the priest, forward, persistent, cheeky, bit of a smartass… would you like me to go on?”

“If we eventually get to your true feelings.” Bunty says, then sighs at Sullivan’s irritated look, “We both know that you’re not in here most days now just for our cups of tea, as delicious as they are.” she points out.

Sullivan opens his mouth to speak then closes it, sits up in his chair. “And you are implying I am here to what… observe Mr Carter from a distance?” 

“Maybe.” Bunty says, then frowns, looks closer at him as though it’ll help her to read him, “Something holds you back from him… is it because he’s a thief?”

“What?” Sullivan’s eyes widen.

“You didn’t know?”

“What, no I- of course I knew that I…” he’s not lying, either. He found Sid’s file in the station (totally by accident) and couldn’t help sneak a peek. And well, even without that, he’s sure the officers have brought it up more than once. “Carter and I are complete opposites.”

Bunty smiles and stands from the table, “Well, you know what they say about opposites, Inspector.”

Sullivan nods. The thing is, it’s just a saying. Sid and he… they could never work.

*

It doesn’t stop Sullivan coming into the shop though, doesn’t stop him ordering tea and sitting in the corner for hours, sometimes until closing time- to which he nods over the counter to where Sid is clearing up for the day, just to take him in before going home for the night. 

Until one evening Sid tells him he can stay, just while he cleans up. Bunty’s already gone, and Mrs M is cooking for the Father that evening so he sweeps the place and cleans the machines alone. Besides Sullivan in the corner.

They keep trying not to glance at each other, and when their eyes do meet neither can think of anything to say, can’t hear their own thoughts over the way the breath leaves their chests. 

They leave together, Sid locking the door behind him, and looking out into the darkness. Sullivan shivers a little in the cold of it.

“Horrible how dark it is, innit?” Sid says, “For seven o'clock I mean.”

Sullivan looks up at him and nods. “Yes.” 

The lamppost not far off illuminates them both. And Sid can feel the way Sullivan’s looking at him right in the pit of his chest. He swallows.

“I should go.” Sid says eventually. Sullivan straightens.

“Right.” he says, “Yes.” 

They part ways from the coffee shop. Sid’s heart keeps trembling deep into the night.

*

He manages to talk to him sometimes, slipping into the seat opposite the Inspector when he’s cleaned the floors and the machines. They pour over their tastes in music and their interest in cars Sid learns without surprise that Sullivan doesn’t enjoy halloween, although he does prefer the cooler months to the summer (but at the same time has a particular dislike for the cold). In a strangely opposite way Sid loves halloween but vastly prefers the summer months. 

“It’s just always dark innit.” he glances out the window into the pitch black of Kembleford. “Only one thing I like doing in the dark.” he looks at Sullivan and watches him tense a little. His eyes widen, “Wait- I didn’t mean- I just- well I  _ do  _ mean that but I wasn’t suggesting nothing I just- it was a joke, I swear.”

Sullivan shrugs it off, “It’s… fine, Carter, I knew what you meant.”

Sid nods, “Right.” he murmurs, glancing down at the table, “Good.” 

He glances back up to meet Sullivan’s eyes and can’t help but swallow. Sullivan stares back, as though he wants to say something but doesn’t. Then he turns and looks out the window. It makes Sid weak, seeing him at this angle, warm, bright against the darkness. 

“I suppose I ought to head off.” Sullivan says, standing and collecting the police files. 

“Right.” Sid says, standing, too, “I better be off too.” 

There’s an awkward moment in the doorway where they both try to let the other pass first. And Sid laughs it off and mutters something about having to turn off the lights and lock up after him anyway. His hands shake as he tries to lock the door. 

Under the lamppost outside they hesitate, the orange glow above them beaming like the sun. 

“I s’pose I’ll be off then.” Sid says, trying not to gaze at Sullivan’s mouth too long.

“Sid…”

“I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, Inspector, for more of our delicious tea-”

“Sid.”

“Hmm?” 

Sullivan leans up and kisses him. For a moment Sid shivers, feeling the cold of the night but then he warms and pulls Sullivan closer, sighing into his mouth, holding him around the neck.

He feels breathless when they pull away and their breaths puff between them like mist. Sid manages a smile. 

“Does this mean you’re inviting me back to yours, Inspector?” Sid asks, murmuring.

“Would that… be okay?” Sullivan asks cautiously, as if he hadn’t just given Sid the warmest, softest kiss he’d ever had. But he manages a nod.

“Definitely.”

*

Sullivan wakes up alone but he hears banging and crashing in the kitchen and groans into the pillow. On the one hand, last night was perfect and the bed’s still warm from Sid’s company. On the other hand… letting Sidney Carter into his home was quite possibly a terrible idea. 

He manages to amble down the stairs to find Sid still rooting through the cupboards. 

“What are you doing?” Sullivan asks, voice still rough with sleep and his eyes still squinting in the daylight. He’s wearing a dark blue dressing gown and Sid can’t help but take him in for a long moment before replying. 

“You have no coffee?” he says.

“You know I don’t drink it, why would I have any?” Sullivan points out.

Sid groans, “Then what do you do when you ‘ave visitors!”

“They have tea.” Sullivan replies. 

Sid grumbles a little more, “But I can’t survive without my morning coffee.” 

Sullivan treads slowly over to him and wraps his arms around his waist from behind. “I’ll make you tea.” he says, quietly into the back of Sid’s neck before pressing a light kiss there. “It’ll make you feel better I promise.” 

“It won’t be the same.” Sid says, but turns his head around to meet Sullivan’s eye at an awkward side angle, “but fine.”

If, in a few weeks time, Sullivan’s cupboards contain multiple boxes of various coffees, and sugar and an extra carton of milk (it turns out Sid is a gremlin that drinks from the bottle and Sullivan won’t have that for  _ his  _ carton), then no one truly needed to know. 

And if, in the cafe, Sullivan receives employee discount, courtesy of Sid, well, what can Mrs M, or Bunty do about it, except share a few knowing looks, and tease Sid until he’s bright red.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know this was up kinda late, kept forgetting and then i was busy and stuff but yeee. also sullivan would so have a coffee one morning after a particularly exhausting night (bc of a police thing or bc of sid is up for debate) and slowly become as addicted as sid. but in the same way, sid starts to appreciate tea alot more too bc their corruption works both ways
> 
> anywayysss hope u enjoyed! soft one about rain tomorrow (it's sid/sullivan again. so will the one on the 4th be but we'll get some other pairings eventually i swear)


	3. Rainy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just more fluff tbh

To be fair, Father Brown had warned him that morning. Something like  _ why don’t you go fix the Wolsely later, there’s meant to be a storm before lunch _ .

Only, Sid is impatient. Eager, to see the Inspector. Not because he  _ likes  _ him exactly, but mostly because he looks forward to winding him up, enjoys smirking through the window at him if he catches the Inspector watching him. 

The Wolsely isn’t terribly in need of repair, in all fairness. In fact it only requires a little bit of tinkering that he’s sure Sullivan should be able to manage. Still, Sid doesn’t really mind and he usually manages to coax some of Sullivan’s biscuits and tea out of him afterwards, even if Sullivan doesn’t let him inside to eat and drink them. 

Until today. He notices the first few drops spit onto his back, seep through his clothing as his head remains sheltered under the car bonnet. But he hears it get heavier, splattering to the ground all around him. He pulls his head out from the car in time to see the police cottage door open. 

“You may as well come in.” Sullivan tells him, holding the door open. 

It makes Sid lose his breath for a moment. But then he finds it again, closes the Wolsely’s bonnet and hurries in the house through the open door. Sullivan closes it behind him, and standing in the hallway, Sid shakes his hair free of rain. 

Sullivan watches him for a moment, and when Sid glances at him, he cannot tell if it had been a scrutinising or interested stare. 

“I’ll get you a towel.” Sullivan decides, climbing the stairs at once.

It leaves Sid alone. He’s been curious about this house. He’s seen the kitchen once, when Sullivan claimed his sink was leaking (Sid couldn’t find anything wrong at all) but the Inspector has been strangely protective of the rest of the place. 

He slips into the lounge.

It’s neat, stacks of books flood bookshelves and there’s two or three letters on a small coffee table. An arm chair and a matching sofa. One of the shelves against the wall holds records and Sid is at once intrigued to the type of music the Inspector might like.

He imagines boring classical pieces, monotonous and wordless. But when he hurries over and flicks through he finds jazz and he finds Frank Sinatra, Nat King Cole. He’s holding a record by the latter as Sullivan speaks from the doorway.

“Did I say you could come in here?”

Sid’s eyes are wide. He feels like a deer undoubtedly caught in headlights. Red-handed. Well his hands aren’t-

Ah.

They’re a little bit grubby from the car. 

“Sorry.” Sid manages, “But I was curious.” he slips the record back onto the shelf and takes the towel Sullivan holds out to him, quickly rubbing it through his hair. He can feel Sullivan staring some more so he stops, looks at him, “Didn’t expect you to be into Nat King Cole an’ that.” he says. 

“They make some good music.” Sullivan replies, a little icy, “Would you like a drink?” 

Sid brightens in pleasant surprise, “Tea?”

“Good idea.” Sullivan says with a nod. He heads to the door then pauses and looks back at him, “Don’t touch anything while I’m gone.”

Sid holds his hands up innocently, but when Sullivan disappears he turns back to the records, pulling out the one he’d just slipped back in. 

_ Because of Rain _

It’s wonderfully apt, he thinks, because of the rain outside, and takes it over to Sullivan’s record player, leaning down to place the record on. He places it as delicately as he can, listening to Sullivan bustling in the kitchen, and the rain now hammering onto the window. 

He’s about to let it play when he hears footsteps leave the kitchen. He stands hurriedly away from the record player as Sullivan re-enters.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothin’!” Sid insists. Sullivan looks pointedly to the record player, “I just thought I’d liven the place up a bit. Who knows how long I’ll be stuck here.”

“You could have at least washed your hands first!” Sullivan scolds, “Go on, the bathroom’s upstairs.”

“But-”

“Wash your hands and you can put on some of my music, if you must.” Sullivan says. 

Sid grumbles but obliges.

*

“It’s raining Father!” Bunty calls from the kitchen as she looks eagerly out the windows, “Just like you said!”

The priest enters, “I’m sure Sid will find somewhere to shelter.” he says, and goes to fill up the kettle. Bunty moves from in front of the sink so he can do so. She looks at him with a smile.

“Are you suggesting the police cottage, Father?” 

“I’m sure the Inspector wouldn’t leave Sid out there to catch a chill in such weather.” the priest replies, crossing the kitchen to set the kettle onto the stove.

Bunty grins, “So you agree with my thinking that Sid had a certain reason to get to the Inspector’s as soon as possible this morning?” she checks.

Father Brown grins innocently, “Don’t know what you mean!” he lies. Bunty shakes her head,

“Sid has taken quite an interest hasn’t he?” she says, turning back to the window, watching the raindrops run down the panes. 

“In the Wolseley? I’d say so, yes.”

Bunty looks at him, “You know what I mean, Father. Sid’s been chasing after the Inspector for months now, even if he won’t admit it.” She begins to set out two mugs for when the kettle boils. 

Father Brown nods, “And the Inspector, seems to have been having a lot of problems at the cottage, that he could surely fix himself.”

The kettle promptly whistles, and Bunty and Father Brown’s giggles and knowing chuckles are drowned out by it. 

*

When Sid returns to the lounge, two cups of tea are set on the coffee table. He waves his hands about to show Sullivan, who’s sat one end of the sofa. 

“Can I put music on now?” he asks. 

“If you must.” Sullivan says,”Although I was perfectly fine with the sound of the rain.” 

“I chose a song about the rain.” Sid counters. 

“Which… oh, this song.” Sullivan trails off as the instrumental introduction whines into the room. He picks up his mug and nurses it nonchalantly.

Sid eyes him. He doesn’t get Sullivan’s stiffness until the lyrics start up. Until he watches him take a sip of his tea while the lyrics drip around the room,

_ Because of rain… I fell in love _

_ with you. _

Sid’s chest tightens. So maybe this wasn’t such an apt song choice…

Then again…

He picks up his own mug and blows over the tea to cool it, then tests it against his lips. The song continues to hum and he cannot help but glance Sullivan’s way again. Sullivan’s watching him back.

_ Because the rain, we stayed indoors, and watched it pour, _

_ That’s how I found the one that I adore. _

The music melts into the background as Sid thinks  _ oh _ .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have no idea how to do tomorrow’s one... the love confession.. i’ve attempted to very different ideas but neither really reach an actual love confession so we’ll see what i throw together tomorrow lmao


	4. Love Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> this one is slightly angsty but it took me forever to make this one work (and when I finished I immediately thought og better ways to do it lol. but oh well...this is set like post 3x15 and sid's just found out Sullivan's leaving...

“But you can’t leave. Not now.” Sid insists, watching Sullivan take the small wooden clock from the mantelpiece and tuck it into a box on the floor. Sullivan stands up straight and faces him.

“Really, Carter? Because if I remember rightly all you have been telling me since I arrived is that I should give up on my job, life, here, in Kembleford and move back to the city.”

This takes Sid aback a little, he’d forgotten about all that, “Well. Yeah but. I don’t. I didn’t mean that- not anymore I- that was ages ago. I just… I thought maybe things were a bit different. Now.” 

“You thought things were  _ different _ ?” Sullivan essentially sneers, “How?”

Sid purses his lips and falls silent, watching as Sullivan closes up the box and picks it up. He passes Sid and leaves through the lounge doorway. And only then, when Sullivan has his back to him, does he manage to blurt it out.

“I think I’m in love with you.”

Sullivan pauses. Stopped still and frozen. For a long time. The mantelpiece clock ticks inside the box Sullivan’s carrying. Ticks and ticks and ticks until Sid hears Sullivan sigh sharply. Then he watches as he moves to the hallway, out of sight. Sid hears the sound of the box being gently set on the floor. Then Sullivan returns to the doorway, flusters over where to put his hands before leaning once against the door frame, and picking at the paint on it with the other. Then he drops this hand and meets Sid’s gaze after what feels like a lifetime.

“I don’t know what you want me to say to that.” Sullivan replies. Sid’s hands find his pockets and he looks at the floorboards beneath his feet.

“Dunno either, if I’m honest.” Sid half mumbles. 

“A-are you sure? That you’re-” Sullivan asks after a pause. 

“I said  _ I think _ .” Sid reminds him. But those words had been only to lessen the blow, he didn’t mean them because  _ yes _ , he’s sure, too sure. He’s so sure he’s in love with Inspector Sullivan that he can’t sleep at night for the way his chest aches for him. So sure that every time Sid’s seen him since the morning outside of the church there is this brief and fleeting moment where he forgets his own name.

“Right.” Sullivan replies, nodding once, at the floorboards.

“I’m sorry.” Sid manages, deciding someone must make a move out of this situation, “I’ll be going. I shouldn’t’ve said nothin’.” he passes Sullivan in the door frame, not allowing himself to look, even if it might be the last time he ever could.

“Sid-” Sullivan grabs at his shirt just before he becomes too far from reach. His fingers curl into the fabric of the yellow chequered button up, and Sid takes a couple tentative steps back to him. “It’s not that I don’t-” 

Sid looks down at him. The Inspector won’t return the gaze and look back at him, instead closes his eyes and lets his head bow closer to Sid, as if making to lean his forehead to his chest, but pulling away just before. Sid sighs up at the top of the door frame, and when he looks back down he meets the Inspector’s eyes. 

“Sid I can’t. We can’t.” he corrects, dropping the grip on Sid’s shirt, letting his arm fall to his side.

“Because we are both men or because you are police or because you are leaving?” 

“All of those.” Sullivan replies, looking almost incredulous. “I just… want you to know that I do feel the same.” 

Sid closes his eyes and moves into him, pressing together their foreheads. He wishes Sullivan would pull away, it’d be easier if he did. But he doesn’t. In fact his hand finds the back of Sid’s neck and his thumb runs down the side of his throat. 

“We could try.” Sid offers, “We could write. I’d tie my visits into Monty’s trips to London and no one would bat an eye. I know so many places in London where we’d be safe.” 

“Stop.” Sullivan pulls his head back, knocking it against the door frame, “Stop making it sound so easy. Possible.” 

“It won’t be easy.” Sid tells him, “But it would be possible. More possible than letting you run away from me.” 

“I’m not running.” Sullivan says, “I almost wish I was.” he pushes his hand through Sid’s hair, just to say he’d done so at least once, “What would you write, Carter, I can’t imagine you’ve written a letter in your life.”

“Uncalled for. You’ll have to see how I write, when I send you something.” 

Sullivan narrows his gaze but if anything it’s playful. “But- but if we… what if… it’s a huge thing, Carter.” 

“I know.” Sid says, “I know. We don’t have to.”

“Don’t say that.” Sullivan says, “Not now.” he stands himself up a bit, and Sid moves slightly away, “I could have left had I not… known you felt the same. But Sid you… it’s too real now and I won’t let go.” 

Sid brightens a little, hope sparking inside of him, spreading warmly around his body. “Really?” 

Sullivan nods, hurriedly, but the nod’s cut short by Sid ducking down and kissing him. The Inspector leans back against the door frame, sighs quietly against Sid’s mouth. It’ll work, it will. Sullivan can imagine a lifetime of crazy, stupid happiness in that kiss. Just him and Sid- a perfect bliss.


	5. Sleepover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> didn't really know where I was going with this one lol, it lowkey wrote itself

The Presbytery living room erupts with more giggles as Sidney, Bunty and Susie lean against each other on the sofa. Sid clutches a mug of hot chocolate in one hand and takes a large gulp to swallow the laughter. They’re all in pyjamas, sat in front of the fire that’s slowly burning away into nothing. 

“Shhh.” Susie reminds them, “We’ll wake the Father.”

Sid shrugs, “Nah he’d sleep through a hurricane before he awoke to our nonsense.” he downs the dregs of chocolate in his mug before leaning forward to slap it down on the table in front of them.

“S’pose he’s had to get used to your noise over the years.” Bunty agrees, shuffling her body sideways and stretching her legs across both Sid and Susie’s laps. 

Sid frowns, “I’m not loud!” she raises her eyebrows, “I’m not!”

“You always sing in the shower.” Susie points out. 

“Everyone sings in the shower!” Sid bites back.

“Not as badly and as loudly as you.” Bunty replies. 

“Hey!” Sid takes the cushion from behind his back and hits out at Bunty’s face. She uses her arm as a shield, laughing, begging for him to stop. 

Behind him, Susie begins to hit him with her own cushion, he turns to hit her back only to release Bunty, who at once springs up with a third cushion. A pillow fight of sorts ensues, and Sid feels that it is rather unfair- two against one. He tries his best to hit back but his shouts are overcome with wild laughter and the odd yelp when Sid manages to successfully hit them back. 

They’re so lost in the fight that they do not hear the front door fly open and someone hurry across the hallway. They don’t hear it until the voice, loud at first, then trailing at the scene-

“What is going- on… oh.”

Sid’s standing in the middle of the sofa and turns and freezes. The girls are still either side of him now standing on the floor. He lowers his cushion slowly and swallows.

“Inspector.” he says with a small nod before jumping awkwardly down to the floor, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

“I heard yelling and screaming I thought- and the front door was open, Carter, do you wish the place robbed?” 

Sid swallows. He feels rather red, and knows the girls staring at him too, “No.” he manages wearily. 

“Where’s Father Brown? Shouldn’t he be keeping an eye on you?”

“We’re not children!” Sid says at once, but regrets it when he catches the sharp frown on the man’s face.

“Apologies I didn’t realise pillow fights were a common adult past-time.”

“You are welcome to join.” Sid replies but his voice is weak. Sullivan could have caught him doing anything else, really, anything it would never have been worse than this. “Father Brown is upstairs asleep.” he adds, “If you must know.”

“Miracle he’d sleep through such a noise.” Sullivan says. Sid shrugs. “Well… I’ll be… on my way since I know you aren’t about to be murdered. Evening Carter, Ladies.” 

The girls nod and Sid manages something almost resembling such as he watches Sullivan leave the room.

“Inspector.” he manages, just before he’s out of sight. Sullivan turns to look back into the room.

“Yes?”

“What are you doing all the way down near St Mary’s at this time of night anyway?”

Sullivan swallows, “Went for a walk.” he says.

“What in the freezing cold?”

“Yes.” Sullivan replies, “It doesn’t particularly bother me.”

Sid narrows his eyes as though he doesn’t believe him but eventually shrugs, “Alright. Have a good evening, Sullivan.”

Sullivan looks as though he may melt, from the fire or Sid’s words remains a little uncertain. “Yes, you too, Carter.”

The girls also chorus a good evening, and they watch Sullivan slip out. They hear the door click shut and Sid flops down on the sofa dramatically and with a groan. He presses the pillow over his face, hiding his blush.

Bunty and Susie break into giggles as they fall down beside him on the sofa. 

“Sid!” Bunty exclaims, nudging him sharply in the shoulder. “Do you two have a thing?”

Sid squeezes the pillow tighter around his face, “No.” he says, half lost into the worn fabric. It’s not a lie, “And we definitely won’t now.”

“You like the police inspector?” Susie asks, sitting up straighter to look at him. She prizes the pillow from his face with a frown, “You didn’t say!”

“Because I don’t like him!”

Bunty and Susie look at each other and then back to Sid, disbelieving him at once.

“I don’t!” Sid insists, because he knows those looks.

“Awww he’s blushing.” Bunty teases. Sid groans again and hides his face with his arms, now he can’t use the cushion. 

“It’s not my fault.” Sid says, “I don’t know where the mocking ends and the flirting begins until it’s too late.” 

“Aww Sid.” Bunty cuddles up to him, casting an amused glance across to Susie. 

“It’s not like he doesn’t like you back.” Susie points out, settling down beside him, head on his shoulder, “He clearly walked here to see you.”

Sid sits up, making the girls do the same. He looks at Susie with a frown, “You think?” Susie nods earnestly. 

“That  _ is  _ true.” Bunty says, “You said it yourself he was out by St Mary’s in the cold and dark of night. He’d hardly be looking for the Father.” 

“He didn’t know I’d be here.”

Bunty rolls her eyes, “Oh you’re never not here in the colder months.”

Sid makes a noise of reluctant agreement in his throat. “Doesn’t mean he was looking for me.” he says, standing and reaching for his mug. He swipes it from the table, “Who wants another hot drink?”

The girls chorus  _ yes please _ and then wait for Sid to leave the room. They glance at each other, still and silent, until they hear the clatter of mugs and the sound of the kettle being refilled. Then Bunty grins and lays down into Susie’s lap.

“You can’t be too mad that he didn’t tell us about liking the Inspector.” Bunty points out. She catches Susie’s hand in hers and slots their fingers smoothly together, “We still haven’t told him about us.”

“Because he should have worked it out for himself! We don’t even hide it.” Susie points out, “Boys are dumb.”

Bunty smiles and lightly kisses Susie’s hand, “Yes, yes they are.”


	6. The Fair

Father Brown doesn’t want to jinx it by voicing the thought out loud, but there hasn’t been a murder yet. The fair in fact, seems to be going perfectly, running entirely smoothly. He’s already won the prize on the coconut shy- a huge bag of sherbert lemons, his favourite, and he thinks he’s in with a perfect chance on the  _ how many sweets in a jar  _ stall too. It’s not even rained yet, the sky as bright as the blues of summer. 

He finds Mrs M leaving the food tent and grins as she hurries over, “Are you sure about this recipe Father? Ginger and apple and honey are not my favourite ingredients to work with!”

“Mrs M I am sure the judges will love it.” Father Brown assures. He means it too, summer felt like it lasted forever and while, of course, he enjoys those months, and all the food Mrs McCarthy bakes, the change to autumnal flavours, the sweetness of the apple and honey and the slight spark of ginger- there was nothing quite like the first bite he’d taken of her first trial cake. 

They find Sid at the high striker, slipping the stall owner some more money before swinging the hammer and having another go. When the slider doesn’t quite reach the bell at the top, Bunty who’d been standing beside him, watching in amusement, shoves him out the way and takes the hammer. She hits the bell first time and turns to smirk at Sid who sticks his tongue out in mocking but eventually reaches out a hand to shake hers.

Father Brown congratulates her when they wander over which only makes Sid roll his eyes.

“Where’s her ladyship?” Sid asks, “Thought she was with you.”

“Well  _ I  _ thought she was with you.” Father Brown replies. They look to Mrs M.

“Don’t look at me!” she says, “She wasn’t with me either.”

They amble amongst the stalls for a while, in search until they come to the apple bobbing. They find her bent over the large wooden barrel, face inside, buried under the water. A man stands nearby, watching his watch as if counting down for her,the small tug of a relaxed smile at his lips. A tall man with a sharp, clean shaven jaw. Father Brown brightens.

“Flambeau!” he hurries over, “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“Yes well I don’t tend to update you on my every whereabouts.” he says, “That’s time, my darling.” 

Lady Felicia lifts her head, hand gesturing widely to the apple successfully caught in her mouth. Sid starts to clap in congratulation, but it dwindles at Mrs McCarthy’s side glance. Hurriedly, Lady Felicia removes the apple, at seeing the sudden company.

“Father Brown!” she greets, “I didn’t see you appear.”

“Just as I did not see  _ you _ disappear.” he replies, “I thought you were watching me on the coconut shy- I won in the end!” he holds up his paper bag now half as full as it had been. 

“Congratulations Father.” Flambeau cuts in after glancing over the man’s shoulder and spying a familiar policeman, “But alas, I ought to be leaving.” he quickly crosses to Lady Felicia, lightly kisses her cheek before slipping away into the crowd and becoming seemingly invisible at once.

“What’s going on here?” Sullivan reaches them, meeting everyone’s eyes except for Sid’s, “Why are you all crowding, did something happen?”

“Nothing at all.” Father Brown replies with a grin, catching Sid slowly slipping from the group but saying nothing about it, “Just enjoying the games! Care to join us?”

“Um.” Sullivan looks at the barrel of apples, Felicia’s wet hair and rolls on the balls of his feet, “No thank you, I am- on the lookout for someone suspicious, ought to keep from distractions.”

“Of course.” The priest grins and watches the Inspector leave, before eagerly paying for a turn at apple bobbing. Bunty continues to watch Sullivan leave, a thoughtful frown on her face, but she says nothing.

“Boo.” 

Sullivan is dragged around the back of one of the long stalls, hidden from all the crowds and every pair of eyes. Every pair except Sid’s. He should be mad at being startled but instead softens.

“Hello.” he says, leaning into him, letting their noses brush. Sid smiles a little before pulling him into a kiss, one and then two, and a longer, deeper third. 

Then Sid pulls away, leaning back against the stall behind him, “Can I win you something?”

“Win me something?” Sullivan echoes.

“Y’know like a bear or something, from one of the stalls.”

“Oh. Why? I don’t need a bear.” Sullivan frowns but Sid only smiles.

“You do. I can win one from the hook a duck.” 

“It’s a prize every time on the hook a duck stall that’s pointless.” Sullivan replies, “What about the high striker?”

“Hmm, no, what about the coconut shy.” Sid suggests, tracing his thumb down Sullivan’s throat. 

“I’d really like to see you win the high striker.” Sullivan replies, not helping the smile that escapes him when Sid looks rather panicked, “I saw your attempts earlier.” he admits.

“You were spying on me?” Sid asks, unsure whether to feel flattered or concerned.

“No, not spying. You just caught my eye.” He kisses the corner of Sid’s mouth, “Miss Windumere made a bit of a fool out of you.” 

Sid groans, “You weren’t meant to see that.” he mumbles, “Game was rigged.”

“Oh of course.” 

Father Brown notices the large teddy bear on Sid’s lap some hours later when the prizes for the baking competitions are announced. In fact the bear is so large it is impossible for anyone  _ not  _ to notice. Bunty nudges him in the ribs and raises her eyebrows, to which Sid shakes his head and tries not to catch Sullivan’s eye (he’s standing away from the group, by the food tent, monitoring the crowd as if he’s on duty).

Mrs McCarthy’s apple and ginger cake wins, of course, and there’s celebrations all round. A small party at Lady Felicia’s afterwards. To which Sid coaxes Sullivan into joining, a mistake, he realises, when they find Flambeau there, washing up in the kitchen...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whether in the end sullivan actually won the bear for sid or sid is just looking after it because there was no way sullivan was going to carry around a giant teddy bear in a public space is entirely up for debate lmao


	7. Sick Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Felicia isn’t well. But she has her family to keep her company

Lady Felicia isn’t feeling very well. She has a temperature and a beastly cough, a runny nose that won’t seem to stop running. It’s rather boring, to spend the day in bed, so when she at first hears the doorbell, she endeavours to answer it, shouting- and thus hurting her already sore throat- to Hornby to leave the door to her.

Inspector Mallory stands on the doorstep with his two children. She manages a smile at the sight of the gift basket the young girl holds up to her.

“Lady Felicia.” Mallory greets with an awkward but earnest smile, “We heard you weren’t well and he children wanted to-” he gestures vaguely to the basket his daughter holds up.

“And I drew you a picture!” The young boy, John, says, holding up a card with a drawing on the front of some flowers.

Lady Felicia takes the basket from the daughter and then the picture, which she places on top. She thanks them greatly and tries to stifle a cough threatening to spill from her mouth, Mallory notices and begins to steer the children away.

“We’ll leave you to rest.” Mallory tells her, “Hope you feel better soon.” 

“Hope you feel better soon Mrs Montague!” John tells her before his father half drags him away.

Lady Felicia smiles as she closes the door. 

*

Later in the day, Father Brown is at her bedside, praying quietly.

“I’m not on my deathbed quite yet Father.” she assures with a tired smile, “It’s only a cold.”

Father Brown nods, “I know. But if it is all the same to you, I should like to pray for your recovery.”

Felicia smiles wearily and lays her head back into her pillows, “Very well Father.”

“After that I could always read you something.” he offers.

“Yes, I would rather like that.”

Father Brown’s voice soon soothes her to sleep.

*

Mrs McCarthy all but throws Felicia’s chef from the kitchen and busies making her own chicken soup. Bunty watches in amusement, leaning against the table the otherside of the room. 

“I don’t see quite why you couldn’t let the chef help. I’m sure he can follow a recipe.”

“Give him my grandmother’s secret recipe?” Mrs M says, voice sounding scandalised, “I should never dream of such a thing.”

Bunty rolls her eyes. She has the job of carrying it up to Lady Felicia later that afternoon when it is made. She knocks awkwardly, balancing the tray with one hand. A weary,

“Come in.” 

Drifts through the door and Bunty pushes it open with her foot. 

“Chicken soup. Courtesy of Mrs M.” 

And then Bunty trips, seemingly over her own feet, sending the delicate china and fresh hot soup across the bedroom floor. 

“Oh my goodness.” Bunty says, bending down at once to gather the larger shards of china,”I’m so sorry Aunt Fliz, I’ll get a broom to clear it all up, and a mop.”

“Oh don’t worry Penelope.” Lady F says, “Fetch the maid to do it. It’s probably a blessing, not sure I’d be able to manage Mrs M’s soup.”

Bunty manages a smile at that, “Quite.”

*

It begins to rain later that afternoon and the Montague house fills with melancholy. It is mostly quiet aside from Lady Felicia’s coughs and sneezes. Sid had gone out and Father Brown reads quietly in the corner. Bunty is trying to follow Mrs McCarthy’s complicated knitting instructions, and huffs every so often. 

The doorbell rings.

Hornby answers it and the group hears muttered words and  _ “yes I shall give it to her” _ before the door closes again. Curiosity getting the better of him, Father Brown peers out into the hall, to see Hornby cross it towards the stairs, carrying a large gift basket filled with rare and exotic looking fruits.

“Another gift basket Ma’am.” Hornby says.

“Oh really, who from?” Lady Felicia brightens and sits up.

“He did not give his name I’m afraid.” Hornby says, gently placing the basket onto Lady Felicia’s lap. 

She dives into it, marvelling at the pineapples, avocados, bananas, and other fruits she can’t name, like the large green and yellowy one that appears like a giant pear. She finds the little handkerchief in the bottom of the basket, and isn’t as surprised as she perhaps should be, when she rubs her thumb across the red letter  _ F  _ carefully sewn into the fabric.

*

“Sid is everything alright?” Sullivan asks, making Sid look up from the fancy table cloth. “You seem quieter than usual, do you not like it here?”

Sid sits up and looks around the little restaurant. “What no, it’s nice.” he promises, leaning forward and folding his arms on the table.

“So what’s wrong?” 

Sid shrugs, “Lady F isn’t well.”

“Oh.” Sullivan says, “Oh, no, is it serious?”

Sid thinks for a moment, “Don’t think so, but I still… want to be there? It’s fine, I’ve been there all day, it’s only a cold she has.”

“No, no, Sid you should have said, we could have postponed.” Sullivan reaches his hand across the table, hesitating for a moment, glancing around the quiet restaurant, then rests it over Sid’s.

Sid looks down at their hands, rubs his thumb over the top of Sullivan’s fingers. It’s new, this. He’s afraid of ruining it.

“I didn’t want to make you feel like I didn’t want this.”

“I don’t think that.” Sullivan says, “We can still postpone, we’ve not even ordered drinks yet.” 

Sid looks around as if expecting someone to take their drinks at that very moment. But no one does, “Is that alright?”

“Of course it is.” Sullivan replies, a smile so genuine that Sid feels almost like crying. 

“Okay.”

*

Sid abandons Sullivan in the foyer downstairs to dash up to Felicia’s room when they get back. She’s lying, eyes closed in bed listening to music fluttering through the radio. She peeks an eye open when Sid opens the door and smiles.

“I thought you had an important date you couldn’t miss.” she says, a little teasing.

“Not the same when I know you’re not well.” he answers.

Lady Felicia tuts, “Oh Sid, you’re worse than Father Brown, it’s only a cold.” 

“I know.” Sid replies, “But I’d like to be here if you need anything. Although… you look well stocked up.” His eyes find the gift baskets at the end of the bed. “What even is all this- well I know this one.” he points to the pineapple.

“Is this a melon?” he picks up at the yellowy green fruit.

“No, Sidney, it’s not circular enough to be a melon.” Felicia tells him, making Sid simply frown,

“So what is it?”

“I’m honestly not entirely sure.”

Sid rifles through the basket and finds a piece of paper. “This writings very fancy.” he comments, frowning, “What’s a P...apaya?” he asks, squinting.

“I suppose that’s our mystery fruit.” she holds her hand out for the paper, and smiles, “It’s lovely writing.” she comments. Sid frowns a little, there’s something in her tone of voice, something adoring. Then she coughs.

Sid rushes over to the water on her bedside table, and hurries to hand it to her. She bats his hands away as she takes the drink,

“I can do it Sid.” she promises, taking a few sips and then clearing her throat, “Anyway, how was Sullivan?” she asks.

Sid’s cheeks redden and he freezes slightly, “I wasn’t-”

Lady Felicia rolls her eyes, “Oh come on, I might be a little under the weather but I know you. You and him, you’ve been chasing each other for ages.” 

“Because he was trying to arrest me.” Sid replies. Lady Felicia chuckles,

“Nonsense he just wanted your attention. And you were certainly giving it to him.” 

Sid can only hum in agreement, and turns back to the basket of fruit. It makes Mallory’s pale in comparison. “Looks like you have your own admirer.” he points out, nodding to the fruits, “Come on, who was it?”

“Who do you imagine could so easily have access to such expensive fruits?” 

Sid thinks for a moment, “... not Flambeau.”

Lady Felicia doesn’t say anything.

“No. Nope. I won’t have it, he’s dangerous.” At once he heads for the door, “Sullivan! Inspector!” 

Lady Felicia smiles as she watches him close the door. She settles back down, listening to the radio once more. This family… it’s everything to her. 


End file.
